


people find where they belong

by cnomad



Series: cnomad prompts [4]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: 9-1-1 Season 3, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Minor Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Missing Scene, POV Evan "Buck" Buckley, Post-Lawsuit (9-1-1 TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25671277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cnomad/pseuds/cnomad
Summary: Buck doesn't think about the lawsuit very often anymore. But when he spots Chief Alonzo in the firehouse one shift he can't help but get dragged back into that chasm of guilt and hurt.This time, Bobby's there to talk it out.
Series: cnomad prompts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855642
Comments: 22
Kudos: 125





	people find where they belong

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song [The Wolves and the Ravens](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0dhfKp7MX2k) by _Rogue Valley_.
> 
> This fic was written to fill the tumblr prompt from an anon: “You lied to me.”

Halfway through a run-of-the-mill shift—they'd already made lunch together and gone out on a series of calls across the city—Buck is helping to restock the ambulance when he spots a familiar face walking out of Bobby’s office. 

Chief Alonzo. 

They didn’t have much cause to interact with each other—why would they, when Buck had only been on the job for a handful of years and was practically at the bottom of the pecking order at the 118? Not to mention if the Chief was aware of him at all it was probably as a nuisance—the firefighter who _sued_ his captain and the city after the department had spent months riding the PR wave of the city coming together to lift the ladder truck off Buck’s leg. It hadn’t exactly made front page headlines in LA, but the story had definitely found its way into the paper and onto the evening news. Reports about _Firefighter Evan Buckley_ , 28, filing for wrongful termination with the photo of him in his dress blues next to the block of text or flashing across the screen (or worse, the photo of him pinned by the ladder truck, his dazed face covered in blood, Eddie kneeling beside him gripping his hand). His lawyer—Mackey—being interviewed by anyone who’d talk to him, explaining that Chief Alonzo and Captain Nash were treating _his client_ unfairly.

Buck is mortified to think about it now. 

At the time it had made so much sense—he’d been so upset, he just wanted to get back to the job, to make a difference. He wanted to be by everyone’s side, had wanted to know that when there was danger they could lean on him. Maybe it was self-sacrificing or stupid, but Buck could do basic math, no matter what Eddie said, and the truth was obvious: Buck was the only one on the team who didn’t have anyone waiting for him at home. It made sense—it was logical, even—that if there was a roaring fire or a precarious emergency where things could all go wrong, that Buck should be the one running headfirst into danger. Everyone else had _family_. 

Of course, Chim and Buck shared Maddie, but it wasn’t the same. He and his sister had gone through years without being in each other’s lives—she’d already proved she could survive without him. But she deserved Chimney. Deserved to be happy and loved and supported in a way Doug had never given her. 

So when he’d been off the job, it hadn’t been out of the ordinary for catastrophic thoughts to take over—to imagine scenarios where something happened to Eddie or Hen while doing a job that normally would have been his. 

But more than all of that—all of the news he’d consumed, tracking the 118 through a series of emergencies without him through those five harrowing months—Buck had been _angry_. So fucking angry, because he’d done everything right. He’d gotten the surgeries, he’d gone to rehab, he’d taken his medicine, he’d slept eight hours a night, and did his stretches. When it came time to go back to the academy, to re-do all of his certifications, to prove his worth, he’d given it his all. He’d thrown himself into the testing, had broken records, impressed everyone with his maturity and commitment to the job—and then he’d vomited blood and passed out at Athena’s house and that was that. 

At first he’d been angry at the system—at Chief Alonzo and his team of lawyers for deciding that he was a _liability_ first and a firefighter a distant second. After the tsunami he’d calmed down a little; had remembered how good it felt just to help people, so he’d taken Bobby up on the offer for light desk duty. It hadn’t been to his taste but he thought…if he could just show them he was committed, that he was serious, the department would have to give him his spot back. And then he’d seen Bosko at the firehouse, replacing him in every possible way—standing at Eddie’s side, taking over his empty locker, and pulling herself into his seat in the ladder truck. 

Now, he can look back on that day and think about it rationally; can remember that the only reason he and Chris were able to survive the tsunami at all was because Lena’s team and their ladder truck had been down at the pier and suffered unknown horrors. That it was good of the department to ensure that all of the firefighters from the 136 had a firehouse to call home after. Can recognize, even, that Lena still probably would have been assigned to the 118 even if Buck were back on the job. 

But it had just been one more thing to stack on top of all the rest, a precarious house of cards that was just waiting to tumble—and it did. At Bobby and Athena’s, in the middle of a delicious dinner. 

_“You’re not ready. That’s what I told them when they asked.”_

It felt like a betrayal to Buck—he’d been so sure that Bobby was fighting for him to come back and to have that comfort, that safety, ripped out from him under him left him unbalanced. He couldn’t make sense of a world where Bobby wasn’t on his side. Everything crumbled and then he stewed in his anger in his apartment, rage burning through him like an accelerated fire, until he’d grabbed his keys and driven over to Mackey’s office the very next morning. 

It was so fucking stupid of him. 

Chief Alonzo is passing by the ambulance and Buck tries to duck his head but the Chief’s eyes dart straight to him. They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, recognition spilling across his face before his lips settle into a thin line. He comes to a stop and stares at Buck. 

“Firefighter Buckley,” he says, tone curt. 

Buck swallows, his throat tight, and tilts his jaw towards the man. “Chief Alonzo.” 

The Chief doesn’t say anything else—simply nods back and turns on his heel, walking out of the station without a single glance backwards. Buck sighs and slumps against the ambulance, tipping his head back and staring at the ceiling. He thought he’d gotten past all of this—these feelings of inadequacy that had overwhelmed him—but he can feel it again, rising up in his throat and choking him, his eyes wet with unshed tears. 

* * *

Chief Alonzo’s visit puts him in a funk for the rest of their shift. He knows the others notice—Eddie slips beside him more often than not bumping shoulders and thighs, giving Buck an invitation to explain what’s got him so quiet. Chim throws together a snack for him after dinner and Hen tries to drag him into a game of pool, while Bobby watches him from the kitchen, thoughtfully, his gaze steady as Buck brushes off his friend’s attempts to cheer him up. 

He goes on calls, but there are no quips, no jokes, and he can feel Bobby’s eyes on him through it all, heavy and contemplative. 

When they make their way back to the station house after a call—a gymnast at a party who’d been tipsily showing off her balancing skills on a second story balcony only to topple over the side and break her femur in the fall—it’s late and Buck is tried. Exhausted even, not just from it being hour eighteen into a twenty-four hour shift, but from the thoughts that have been weighing him down since he’d come face-to-face with the Chief. He wants nothing more than to sleep, but before he can slink off to the bunk room, Bobby is calling out to him. 

“Hey Buck,” he says, standing in the open doorway of his office. “Let’s talk.” 

He doesn’t want to—can think of nothing he’d rather do less—but Bobby’s his captain and he can’t ignore a direct order. And that’s what this is, he can tell. Bobby didn’t ask if he wanted to talk, didn’t offer to chat, he told him in no uncertain terms that they were _going to_ talk. 

So he goes easily without a fight.

Buck straightens his back and nods, glances back at Eddie who’s watching him carefully from where he’s stopped in his tracks. Hen and Chimney have already disappeared into the bunk room, but Eddie is hovering just outside of the door, his gaze heavy on Buck. His eyebrows slant together in a silent question, but Buck waves him off, allowing his lips to tug into a small smile to try and reassure the other man. His best friend who always has his back. 

Stepping into Bobby’s office is familiar. He’s done it a hundred times before and this should be no different. Bobby settles into the chair behind his desk and gestures for Buck to take a seat. 

“What’s up, Cap?” Buck asks, resting his elbows on his knees. He knows if he didn’t his nerves would cause his leg to bounce. 

Bobby says, his tone genial, “I just wanted to check in with you, see how you’re doing. You’ve been a little quiet today.” 

He tips his head to the side, considering his next words. “Guess I’m just not in a talkative mood today. No big deal.” 

He’s hoping, maybe, that Bobby will leave it be. Accept the non-answer for what it is and move on to a different topic, something safe and non-threatening. Instead, Bobby’s gaze softens a little as he leans forward. 

“I couldn’t help but notice that your silence didn’t seem to start until after the Chief’s visit,” he says. His words are slow, carefully pieced together as though he’s doing his utmost to be gentle. “Or am I wrong?”

Buck tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying at the flesh. He drops his gaze to his hands, not meeting Bobby’s. Instead of answering the question, he asks, “What was he doin’ here anyway?” 

He’s still staring at his hands when Bobby answers. “He’s visiting all the station houses—the LAFD got a grant from the government and we have some extra room in the budget for some upgrades. He’s trying to determine which firehouses need it the most. The 118 is pretty well set, so I don’t imagine we’re going to get much of the grant money.” 

“That’s good, I guess.”

There’s a beat of silence and Buck can feel the weight of Bobby’s gaze on him. They sit there, quiet, until Buck is forced to lift his chin and meet Bobby’s eyes. 

“You gonna tell me what’s going on, kid, or am I going to have to drag it out of you?” Bobby quips, a smile playing on his lips. 

Buck’s not sure if he’d be quite so playful if Bobby knew the storm that was brewing inside of him. 

His elbows are sharp points digging into his knees and he needs that sensation to ground him. He knows he’s about to cross an invisible line, one they hadn’t acknowledged in months. At times, Buck swears he’s even forgotten it was there at all—the lawsuit was behind them, Eddie had forgiven him, the team had moved on. But then Chief Alonzo was there and suddenly Buck could see nothing but the chasm between him and Bobby. 

His heart thuds against his ribs, a steady beat beneath his skin, and he swallows. His mouth is dry as he says, a tremor in his voice, “You lied to me.” 

The words fall out of his mouth and land in the empty space between them, hanging in the air and filling the office with all of their implications. 

“I don’t—Buck, what?” Bobby asks, clearly confused by what he’s just said. And he should be, because Buck has just kicked their conversation months into the past, to a conflict Bobby must have assumed was already settled and gathering dust. 

He drags his tongue across his bottom lip, his gaze locked on the photo of the team just behind Bobby’s head. He says, “Back when—after the embolism. You told me the department— _Chief Alonzo_ —was concerned I was a liability because of the blood thinners but…that was you.” 

It’s what’s been bothering him this whole time. It’s what made him so angry that night of the dinner. The flash of realization that Bobby had lied, that Buck wasn’t fighting against the department to be taken seriously but against _Bobby_. 

Bobby looks ready to say something, to defend himself, but Buck rushes on. “I’m not—fuck, whatever, I’m not mad, Bobby. I regret the lawsuit so much and I handled everything so fucking poorly but—but you still _lied_. It was up to you if I came back, not the LAFD. Not Alonzo.”

He forces himself to pull his attention back to Bobby, can see the concern etched into the other man’s face. Bobby’s eyebrows have climbed up his forehead, his lips parted in shock. He shakes his head and says, imploringly, “They asked my opinion—“

“When you told me in the hospital that I didn’t have my job back, you made it sound like it was above your head,” Buck says. He remembers standing in that hallway, wearing those uncomfortably tight compression leggings that pinched at his waist, can still see Bobby’s face staring up at him. He’d felt faint standing there, all of his hopes and dreams slipping from between his fingers like sand. He’d been so sure it was within his grasp and then it was gone. Just like that. “But _you_ told them I wasn’t ready.” 

Buck doesn’t know—can never really know—if he would have taken the news better if Bobby had been direct with him. But sometimes he thinks…maybe. If Bobby had come to him and explained his fears, his concerns, expressed how much he cared about Buck’s health and well-being. Would it have felt like the paternal care he knows he craves? 

When Buck first started at the 118, he’d gotten into the unfortunate habit of calling Bobby “Pops.” It hadn’t lasted long—just those first few months, and he’d stopped after Bobby called him out on it the day he fired him. 

(Buck still flushes at the memory, the mortifying understanding that he used to be the kind of asshole who would steal a ladder truck to go get laid. Sometimes he can’t believe that Bobby hired him back at all.)

But it was still there. That warm, loving feeling deep in his gut that Bobby was more than just his captain, his superior. Sometimes Bobby clapped his hand on Buck’s shoulder, told him he was proud of him, or gave him this concerned look that made clear he cared so strongly about Buck. Like a father. Buck didn’t have that in his life—not really, his parents were distant entities in his life, voices on a phone from halfway across the country. 

So _maybe_. Maybe if Bobby had been honest from the beginning, Buck wouldn’t have been consumed by his rage, wouldn’t have gone off and made a half-assed decision to hire Mackey. It’s not—he’s not _blaming_ Bobby. Buck made his own fucked up decisions, and he holds himself accountable for the lawsuit and how it ruined so many other things. Those weeks where he couldn’t talk to Eddie, where he’d turned his back on Christopher who was still healing from the tsunami and _needed_ someone who’d been there with him, and after, when he realized that Eddie had been hurting so much that he’d gone out and joined a fucking fight club—Buck knows that’s on him. 

“I’m sorry about that,” Bobby says. His voice is…not gentle exactly. It’s firm but his gaze is soft, warm, and Buck knows that he means it. “I thought I was doing the right thing for you, and the 118, and I still stand by that. But I shouldn’t have lied to you.” 

Buck blinks up at him, his lips parting. He doesn’t know what he wanted from this conversation—why he’d broached it at all when he could have easily avoided Bobby’s prodding. But this...this is good. 

“You deserved the truth, and I should have respected you enough to give you that,” Bobby continues. 

Just like that, the weight is gone. 

Buck feels lighter for the first time since that dinner all those months ago—since he’d stood on shaking legs and thanked Athena for a delicious meal and then ran out of the house. He still doesn’t agree with Bobby, still thinks he could have done the job even on the blood thinners (and he’d proved it, hadn’t he, when he returned to the station and did his job on them for months after without any problem?), but there’s something to be said about the value of an apology. An acknowledgement of a deed done wrong. 

“I’m sorry too,” he says, his eyes trained on Bobby. “I should have talked to you about it first instead of getting lawyers involved. You deserved better too.” 

Bobby smiles at him then, his eyes bright with something tender. He nods his head once, and says, “I’d say it’s water under the bridge, but I think we both needed to say that. Needed to hear it.” 

A chuckle bursts from him, and Buck can’t stop the smile that spreads across his own lips. He ducks his gaze for a moment, leans back in the chair, and watches Bobby. “It feels good to get it off my chest.” 

“I’m glad,” Bobby says. He stands then, and steps around the desk until he’s beside Buck. He reaches out and drops his hand to Buck’s shoulder, his thumb pressing lightly against the divot above his collarbone. “I was worried about you today, kid.” 

He flushes, and lets the warmth rush over him. He stares up at Bobby and says, earnest, “Thanks for checking up on me.” 

“Always, Buck,” Bobby says. “We’re a family, that’s just what we do.” 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story feel free to follow me at [my tumblr](http://cinematicnomad.tumblr.com/) where I post way too much and sometimes fill fic prompts and make gifsets. Leave your thoughts in the comments below and thanks for reading!


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